Let them have it."
The coachman rose, and addressed his remarks generally.
"Put her up at the back, or leave her behind," he directed. "Man
and wife have never been separated on this coach since I started
running it fifteen year ago, and they ain't going to be now."
A general cheer greeted this sentiment. The stout lady, now
regarded as a would-be blighter of love's young dream, was hustled
into the back seat, the whip cracked, and away we rolled.
So here was the explanation. We were in a honeymoon district, in
June--the most popular month in the whole year for marriage. Every
two out of three couples found wandering about the New Forest in
June are honeymoon couples; the third are going to be. When they
travel anywhere it is to the Isle of Wight. We both had on new
clothes. Our bags happened to be new. By some evil chance our very
umbrellas were new. Our united ages were thirty-seven. The wonder
would have been had we NOT been mistaken for a young married couple.
A day of greater misery I have rarely passed. To Minnie, so her
aunt informed me afterwards, the journey was the most terrible
experience of her life, but then her experience, up to that time,
had been limited.
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